


Not All Wolves Howl at the Moon

by Wulvercazz



Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Kind of an Inuyasha AU, M/M, One sided Ichihime, Sengoku Period AU, Slow Burn, Yokai AU, but not really, drama sprouts in every corner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wulvercazz/pseuds/Wulvercazz
Summary: Ichigo is the prince of the Eastern Ōkami Yokai Tribe; his only wish, to make a life of his own doing.Grimmjow is... well no one knows, but the Northern Ōkami Tribe took him in and sometimes he wishes they hadn’t.awful summary is awful, InuYasha inspired but not completely based on it~





	1. Past Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> I will hopefully be updating this on Mondays now that I have so much inspiration for this ship~<3

Straying away from home when you’re young and awkward, and your limbs are kind of dumb still, and worse, no one knows what you’ll actually grow into seems like a big bad idea. But it’s better than staying around a village where everyone thinks you’d be better dead or away.

He’d never admit to the small sprite that had chased him for about five terrifying minutes, but it had brought him closer to a sight he’d have probably missed otherwise. In a far future, Grimmjow was thanking the damned tricky sprite that had pulled on his hair and pricked his legs like the stinger on a bee just to watch him run; but right now, as he rubbed the sore, reddened spots he only cursed the wretched thing. Sprites sucked ass. Annoying little shits.

He sat on a rock, cushioned by moss from the moisture of the starting rain season, in between a few berry bushes; definitely not hiding from the sprite, no, no.

His left ear twitched at the sound of low voices approaching a good fifty meters away, and curiosity had him crouching lower; curiosity hadn’t killed this cat yet, but it definitely would in his opinion as he smelled the owner of the voices.

Aizen Sōsuke, the Leader of the Northern Ōkami tribe; his tribe. He was far away enough to not be detected, hopefully; the strong smell of the plants surrounding him would probably mask his scent enough to go unnoticed, hopefully.

The princess was there too he noticed, covered in a veil embellished with nice threads; as were two of the elders of the tribe, the ones who hated him the most. Orihime was her name if he remembered right; she didn’t interact much with the rest of the tribe, much less come near a lowlife peasant like him, bearly part of the tribe.

There were other people whose scent he couldn’t recognize; Ōkami as well, so highly likely members of any of the other surrounding tribes in a political meeting.

Boring.

Not worth his time, or attention; his curiosity was quenched, and so he prepared to leave, that is until a shadow of bright orange appeared in the corner of his eye. It felt like a déjà vu. And soon it filled his vision and his mind with a memory. It was foggy and bitter and it made his heart clench as tight as his fists. And he should’ve been more careful but his feet suddenly fled the scene, and the air hitting his face was sharp as knives; it made his eyes burn and his lungs work harder for the little air that was entering his body.

The Prince, almost Leader, of the Eastern Tribe let his trained eyes stray from the important conversation being held for him, to look at a swift movement in the foliage almost hidden by the shadows. A curious creature maybe?

“Lord Kurosaki, Sir Aizen has addressed you. Is everything alright?” his head snapped back at the present, all eyes were on him, even Lady Aizen’s wide behind the light pink veil.

“Everything is alright, I’m sorry King Aizen, sir.” Ichigo’s pointed ears lowered in embarrassment, but Aizen just smiled. Ichigo didn’t like King Aizen’s smile, it sent chills down his spine.

“No need for such formality young Kurosaki, you will be King too. Very soon.” his voice was always calm, and sounded amused, “I only wished to speak to you more about my daughter; you two ought to start courting soon even if you’re to marry anyway.”

Right. It was stupid to forget, even as they spoke about the topic; but honestly, big part of him still refused to believe that this was his fate. His duty as future King and Leader of the Eastern Tribe of Ōkami Yokai. He couldn’t help the restless way his honey brown tail swished as they made their way back to their territory, the elders almost guiding his body to follow without him wanting to as his mind flew farther away.

It was all he could think about these days; once the season of rain was on it’s peak he’d be of age and the ceremony of his ascent would be held. He’d be the new King and Leader and soon after he’d marry Lady Ai- Orihime.

“It’s not all that bad Ichigo! I heard the princess is a real beauty, and you’ll be _King_ for crying out loud!” Renji was being loud, something his growing headache did not appreciate.

“Yes, I get it Renji; but I don’t even know her. Hell, _she_ doesn’t even know me, what tells you she isn’t as worried about this as me?”

His hand kept running through ginger hair, fluffed up and messy from the stress; only to have Rukia Kuchiki, daughter of a noble family in the tribe, hold his wrist in annoyance as he brought it near his hair once more.

“But there’s nothing you can do about it, Ichigo.” she frowned as she easily held him down with her lithe figure, “I too wish you didn’t have to go through this, but you’re the prince.” her navy blue eyes looked down in defeat, her hands releasing his wrists as she exhaled. “It’d be easier for you if you just let it happen, and don’t forget we’ll be here for you along the way.”

“Yeah.”

The night usually gave him comfort, but for some reason, a couple hours after Renji and Rukia left him, cautious to not be seen, he still laid awake as he stared at the moon. It shone bright but cold, and he almost wanted to hide. Tomorrow he’d have time to see his sisters again, that’d better his mood.

He was sure it wasn’t normal for him to be betrothed; not these days it wasn’t. Maybe during the unification it was; when the four tribes weren’t a unit but entities at war. In days of peace it was quite unheard of. And yet his mother had agreed to it before her death; that was almost ten years ago.

He knew it was just him; his nature. He wasn’t a full demon, like his mom, or his sisters. A half-breed. No one called him that to his face, he was the prince after all, but they did behind his back. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice, how the elders were always too hard on him, how they didn’t trust his judgement and how many members of the tribe respected him almost unwillingly. But he had to be thankful, maybe; they could’ve killed him as a pup, or cast him away to his own defenses, same either or.  

It didn’t make his present situation any less unbearable; every decision was made by other people, every action he took was planned for him, ever since… Well, ever since his mother couldn’t stand before him and the elders.

He hadn’t noticed it then; but quite possibly they made her life as hard as they made his now, because of him. Except at least Masaki Kurosaki was a full Ōkami Yokai, so she at least had that in her favour; they were still able to convince her to the arranged marriage though. Guess there really was no backing out.


	2. That Kid Smells Like Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a few hours lat but here’s the next chapter! hopefully I’ll be on time next monday ;v;  
> hipe you enjoy~<3

There was already a tremble to his legs when he started feeling his tribe-mates closer, when he could smell the particular smell of the tribe. He had no business going outside the territory; no business running away and forgetting his duties within the tribe. And yet nobody ever said anything about it because honestly everyone was happier when he was away. 

Only reason he came back was training, it was the only way he could beat some wolf assholes up and get away with it. That, and if he wished to get away from them and live on his own soon, he had to be in top shape; he had to be top predator or nothing. Specially since he had no idea what exactly he was supposed to be; the tribe called him ‘cat’, his adoptive mother ‘kitten’ but they knew nothing other than that, there were possibly a hundred types of feline yokai known, guessing which would take time, more so because he had no access to the outside yet and no one here bothered trying to guess either.

“Oi, kitty!” was what greeted him into the training grounds, Nnoitra, loud as always, “Look what the cat brought in! ...Oh wait.” 

“Are you done stalling or will you keep yapping?” he snapped back harsher than intended, he couldn’t lose his cool to this mutts.

“Oof, kitty got claws!” Nnoitra’s lanky limbs flailed a little as he laughed with the rest, his freakishly long tongue poking out with the loud cackling. It shouldn’t, he was used to it, but it seriously got on his nerves that day. Everything did ever since…, well, since the little sprite chased him, of course. 

He prided himself in being calm and collected unlike the wolves his age; for not being loud and unnecessarily touchy. But recently, his long black tail swished anxiously every loud bark and howl made his blood boil, and every remark and taunt about his nature made his fingers fret and stutter at the need to silence their offenses. 

Maybe it had affected him more than he dared admit; or maybe it was adolescence, who knows what freakish changes he’d go through. There was no information about it at Mr Karu’s lectures; he taught the oldest pups about puberty and life within the tribe, like their upcoming adulthood ceremonies, earning their place on the tribe and the way one should court and be courted for mating. It all made little sense to him, he was taught the same things everyone else was, during lectures and physical training and hunting lessons. But his body was different, it didn’t work the same way as the rest and everybody noticed; from very early on.

Starrk was the oldest male in his generation, seconds away from his ceremony; Grimmjow respected him. Not only was Starrk one of the few who didn’t go out of their way to annoy him, but he also was a strong asset, if a little disinterested. He had a strong fighting style, a great hunter, and quite popular with their female companions. Before, Grimmjow wanted to be like him. Before… before he saw the truth; that he didn’t belong in the pack. 

No matter how much his mother, Kanae, if he could even call her mother, tried to hide his nature from him, it was quite evident. It only took a few minutes around the other pups, first day with Mrs Nakamura, who taught young pups basic knowledge and cared for them while the parents worked their roles in the tribe, to realize his tail was weird, and his hair color odd, and his eyes scary.

Optimism was Grimmjow’s deepest regret; he’d gone well into his childhood thinking he just had to try harder. To train more and be the best he could be and the tribe would accept him. It was a childish dream, and with childhood it died. 

Yammy was his sparring partner today. A burly kid, built like a mountain, that wasn’t even a month older than him. He was used to it, of course; to feeling like everyone else had a head start he wasn’t granted. At this point it usually didn’t bother him; he had other abilities they didn’t, but that didn’t stop his jaw clenching in frustration.

The adult supervising the sparring that day announced the start and Grimmjow didn’t even notice. Not consciously. When his mind came back to it he was already throwing punches at Yammy’s humongous form, blocking the meaty fists. 

“Come on, kitty, you’re not even trying!” the wolf chuckled, a gross sound to Grimmjow’s ears, he hated that sound.

“Are you mad, little kitty?” he taunted; and an unwanted hiss left Grimmjow’s lips, an instinctive warning. It wasn’t necessary if they were sparring.

It only increased the strength on Yammy’s laughter; how dare he mock him. How dare he think he was above him. How dare he laugh that ugly laugh. His claws burned with hate; they burned with frustration and with bloodthirst.

They burned quite literally; and they shouldn’t have. Like his vision shouldn’t have acquired an eerie blue hue and his claws shouldn’t have torn the palms of his hands as his fists were engulfed in orange and blue flames. 

He felt… calm. His own breathing resounded in his ears, and a heavy thrum; his heartbeat? There was more noise in the background, nothing important. It didn’t catch his attention, all he needed was to feed the flames and they’d be gone; he wasn’t sure why he knew or how, but he was certain it was truth.

Suddenly a loud scream, a lot louder than the soothing lullaby that had consumed him just seconds ago, made his body shake to the very core. It was pained and desperate and it made a chill run down his spine and the hair in his body stand on end. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” His vision focused on the reality all at once; the training field, his companions gaping around them. There were two- no, three pairs of hands holding his arms painfully, and pulling his wild blue hair too. Straight in front of him, Yammy held his throat tightly as blood gushed through his fingers; two other bodies already holding him up and helping in any way to stop the bleeding.

The scenario was pretty clear, and yet Grimmjow was confused; like the past ten seconds had been a total blackout. And yet felt like years had passed. 

“SHOULD FUCKING K-KILL HIM THAT’S WHAT!” Yammy continued sputtering insults as the older wolves helped his weak body away, “A FREAK!! A DERANGED BEAST!!” 

The incessant howling brought clarity to the last moments of daze, the tight hold in his arms was now a couple knees on his back and a hand pushing his head low as the adult wolves held him down. A tight growl grew in his throat; the wolf holding his head, who he now recognized as Fusanosuke, the supervisor, growled back in warning. 

By his own pride, Grimmjow would’ve resisted, would’ve flailed more and called on those flames once more. But he was still young, and his instinct recoiled from the wolf in higher rank than him. 

His eyes looked down reluctantly as his pointed ears flattened against his skull, and his taught body gave up; the hold gave away too. Slowly, almost expecting him to try again; eventually only two hands retained each of his arms, leading him back to town, most likely to determine exactly how much trouble he was in. 

 

He almost didn’t care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grimmy is bby


End file.
